


can't be unlearned, i've known the warmth of your doorways

by finnsdead



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: And I agree, First Kiss, Geralt Deserves Good Things, M/M, Pining, hey guys im back, in a new fandom and with some new boys, jaskier thinks geralt's hair needs help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22475458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finnsdead/pseuds/finnsdead
Summary: Geralt leaned back into Jaskier. The bard had lost all coherent thought and the small part of his brain that operated solely on impulse screamed for him to chase that wonderful noise over and over and over in a million different ways. It screamed at him to pull Geralt out of the bath immediately and to kiss him and to try and drag that moan out of his throat in any way he could andokay those ones were new.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 114





	can't be unlearned, i've known the warmth of your doorways

**Author's Note:**

> new fic!! with new boys!!
> 
> sorry its been so long!!! anyways i wrote this from 11pm to 2am so any mistakes are on me folks
> 
> title from it will come back by hozier

The first thing Jaskier noticed about the man was his hair. 

He looked young, not a day over thirty; yet his hair was snow white. That, plus the two very big and very scary swords and the ~brooding loner~ vibe intrigued Jaskier too much to restrain himself from attempting conversation with this gorgeous stranger. Said stranger, who was revealed to be the legendary Geralt of Rivia, was apparently too good to reciprocate Jaskier’s poor attempts and refused to say more than a sentence at a time. 

Nevertheless, he persisted.

He followed Geralt out of the bar and out into the world. Geralt claimed he wanted to be alone. At any point, he could’ve swung at Jaskier _once_ and he would’ve been unconscious for at least a day; more than enough time for Geralt to completely abandon the bard. But he never did. 

Jaskier, never one to accept defeat, used this to his advantage. He wrote song after song, traveling with Geralt as long as he was allowed. He got used to the witcher’s routine and never staying in the same town for more than a few days. He adored being able to wander the lands, singing and raising spirits and claiming fame. His songs made Geralt a household name, his songs praising the man and his heroic deeds. He was especially proud of Toss A Coin, which became a crowd favorite and gave Jaskier a way to guarantee the two of them a little extra coin, as people liked to follow the song literally. Jaskier had played it once in a bar as Geralt sat in the corner and stared daggers at the bard, and people _actually tossed Geralt coins_. He played it in almost every bar after that. He and Geralt gave each other fame. It was nice.

Here’s the thing: nothing lasts forever. 

Eventually, Jaskier had to go home to visit. Geralt decided not to accompany him ( “I’m not a family man, Jas.”) so they parted ways. Before he left, however, Jaskier heroically promised to find Geralt when he could, to which Geralt grunted and rolled his eyes, mumbling something under his breath that sounded a lot like “good luck with that”.

And so it went. Jaskier went home, visited his family, put up with the typical banter and teasing from his siblings and the doting and fretting from his mother, who was vehemently against the fact that her _baby Dandilion was traveling the lands with a witcher, of all people! It’s dangerous, Julian! You’re not going back to that, right? I can’t handle one of my babies in constant danger!_

Jaskier left as soon as he got sick of the comments. He missed the uncertainty of life with the witcher. The best he could hope for on the other end was an acknowledgment of how quiet it must be wherever Geralt was. 

Jaskier had absolutely no idea where to start looking for Geralt. He figured if he kept walking, he’d bump into him eventually. Destiny was funny like that. You always end up finding the people you’re meant to be with. He bumped into an extremely sleep-deprived Geralt trying to fish a djinn out of a river within a week of walking aimlessly. And then there was the whole situation with said djinn and Yennefer and Geralt being a witcher and being… well. The way he was. He apparently didn’t care about anyone and then suddenly this witch shows up and Geralt can’t take his eyes off her and she’s equally all over him and Jaskier is _not_ jealous _or_ mad, thank you very much. He’s definitely not pissed off at Geralt for the next week.

It had been a few months since the djinn situation and the two of them settled back into their old routine of contracts, inns, performing, and then back on the road. Jaskier was grateful for the familiarity. After a while, though, he started noticing new things about Geralt. Being away from his- from _the_ witcher for so long gave him a new perspective on the man. 

The main thing that was bothering Jaskier to his very core at the moment was the texture of Geralt’s hair. The color was still striking as it always had been, but every time Jaskier looked at the man, all he could see was how thoroughly damaged Geralt’s hair was. He had most likely never gone out of his way to take care of it, which wasn’t surprising in his line of business, but Jaskier couldn’t stop thinking about it. Every time Geralt returned to their room at whatever inn in whatever town, he bathed quietly and almost solemnly, sitting in the bath until the water went cold. He never did anything special. He really barely touched his hair at all, usually just picked the blood and gore out of it and moved on. Jaskier watched this every time, a shiver running down his spine as he imagined just how stiff his hair was. 

Today wasn’t supposed to be any different. Jaskier watched Geralt in the bath from his place on the bed, picking aimlessly at the strings of his lute. Geralt poured water over his head, the grime easily dislodging and sliding off the strands. Jaskier cringed. 

“Isn’t that terrible?” 

Geralt turned his head to face the bard. “What?”

“Your hair.” Jaskier said. “You don’t… do anything to it. Does it not feel horrible?”

“It’s just hair. Why would I do anything to it?”

Jaskier threw his lute down on the bed and went straight for his bag. He rooted around frantically for a minute, searching for something he knew would be in there somewhere. His hand finally wrapped around the familiar shape of the bottle and he grinned at Geralt. He revealed the bottle, which appeared to be some kind of cream. Geralt stared at it blankly. Jaskier grabbed a spare stool lying around, pulled it up right to the bath, and sat behind the witcher’s back. Geralt’s head was tilted back, looking disapprovingly at Jaskier. Jaskier grabbed his head and moved it so he was looking forward, despite Geralt’s huff of protest. He dumped some of the cream into his hand, then transferred it to the hair in front of him, slowly running his hands through the strands. 

Jaskier was right, of course. Geralt’s hair was terrible and damaged and texturely horrible to touch. He made sure Geralt knew.

“I was right, you know.” he said matter-of-factly. “When was the last time you actually took care of your hair?”

“By ‘took care of’, do you mean rubbed bullshit into it? Never.” Geralt grumbled.

“This is absolutely not bullshit, Geralt. Do you think my hair got as silky smooth as it is by ignoring it every time I wash? No, so hush. I know what I’m doing.” Jaskier replied. 

“No, your hair is soft because you’re not a witcher. And because you don’t have to fight monsters and pick parts of their bodies out of your hair.” 

Jaskier opened his mouth to snap back, but nothing came. He sighed. “That is a fair point.” 

There was a peaceful quiet for a few minutes. Geralt broke it first.

“What the fuck even is that, Jas?”

Jaskier sighed, massaging the conditioner deeper into Geralt’s hair. “If you must know, it makes your hair softer-”

The witcher growled. “I don’t need softer hair, Jas-”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t need-”

“It’s just going to get ruined again, I don’t see-”

“For _God’s_ sake, Geralt, let yourself have something nice for _once_ in your _FUCKING_ life!”

Geralt fell silent. Jaskier’s hands stilled, but stayed where they were.

Geralt leaned back into Jaskier’s hands and mumbled something.

“What?”

“I said I’m sorry, Jas.” Geralt repeated, his voice soft.

Jaskier went back to working his fingers through the tangles and started washing the cream out. Neither man spoke for a good while.

What finally broke the silence was a quite unexpected moan from Geralt as Jaskier pulled a little too hard on a section of hair. Jaskier’s breath hitched in his throat and a good 60% of his blood plummeted _down_. Geralt froze, his eyes closed and cheeks dusted pink, thoroughly embarrassed. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, his voice cracking lightly. “Was that-”

“Not. A. Word.” he said through gritted teeth. 

“Well, alright then.” 

Geralt made a small ‘hmm’ noise and leaned back into Jaskier. The bard had lost all coherent thought and the small part of his brain that operated solely on impulse screamed for him to pull his hair again, to chase that wonderful noise over and over and over in a million different ways. It screamed at him to pull Geralt out of the bath immediately and to kiss him and to try and drag that moan out of his throat in any way he could and _okay those ones were new_ . It was all he could do to resist the bigger part of the impulses. He physically couldn’t stop himself from tugging a bit too hard on Geralt’s hair, just to see if he would make the same noise again and _yup there it is okay cool!_

Geralt sat up quickly and turned his torso to look at Jaskier. His cheeks had more color than Jaskier had ever seen on the man in all their time together and the way he was looking at the bard was a strange mix between angry and wildly, _wildly_ lust-blown. Jaskier held up his hands in surrender, assuming this would go the way of the former. 

“Jaskier.” Geralt said, a little too breathlessly. Now it was the bard’s turn to blush. 

“Listen, Geralt, I swear I didn’t mean to do it again, my hand got caught and I-” Jaskier started, almost vomiting the words.

In the time it took Jaskier to start talking and be cut off, Geralt had turned fully around, kneeled facing him, and grab the front of his shirt, tugging him closer. Jaskier caught himself on the edge of the bath, half on and half off the stool. Geralt’s mouth was centimeters from his and he forced himself not to look down at it.

“Jaskier.” Geralt whispered, his breath dancing across the other man’s lips.

“Hmm?” Jaskier replied, his voice raising about eight octaves.

“Stop talking.”

And then suddenly Geralt’s lips were on his and _oh gods oh gods oh gods_ . He let go of the edge of the bath and his hands went directly to the witcher’s hair and pulled. A small moan escaped Geralt’s throat and he bit lightly at Jaskier’s lip. Jaskier gasped and Geralt immediately licked into his mouth, radiating _want_ and _need_. Jaskier’s brain entirely short circuited. Geralt was hot and demanding and everything Jaskier wanted. 

Jaskier was the first to pull away (breathe, Jaskier, remember breathing?). He rested his forehead against Geralt’s and smiled. 

“Is it safe to assume that you’ve thought about this before?” Geralt purred.

“More than once, Geralt of Rivia.” Jaskier replied, and kissed him again, much softer this time. Their hands began to wander and very soon a very naked Geralt was walking Jaskier back towards the bed, throwing him down, and swiftly removing his clothes. 

Jaskier found about 8 other ways to get the same noise at various volumes out of Geralt.

**Author's Note:**

> thank yall for reading !!  
> also: there will be a sort of epilogue situation when i find time to write it !
> 
> tumblr: dxveyjacobs  
> twitter: finns_dead


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